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October 2021

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Eva Tabaosares Kohr was born in Tubungan, Iloilo, Philippines.  She received her Bachelor's Degree in Commerce, Accounting Major, Cum Laude, from the University of San Agustin, Iloilo City, Philippines.  She has published two books of poetry: Echoes From the Heart, 2004; and in 2009, I Shot An Arrow Into The Star, which received an Honorable Mention Award for Poetry at the 2009 New York Book Festival.   She hopes to publish her third book, Petals In the Wind, this fall 2021. She has two International Second Place winning poems, Two Editor's Choice Awards from International Society of Poets and   a Medal for Excellence in Poetry for World Brotherhood and Peace awarded by UPLI during the 22nd World Congress of Poets in Larissa, Greece, 2011 and Poet of Merit awards.  She enjoys writing poetry and loves to paint using water color as her medium. She and her husband Paul own a Commercial Refrigeration and Air Conditioning business and the Kohr Soft Ice Cream Shop.  She lives in West Creek, New Jersey.

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Meadow flowers bloom,
With gay abandon and dance,
To fickle wind's tunes.

When the fox-glove bells,
Toll the knell of summer's end,
Glee turned into gloom.

Yesterday's blossoms,
Were odorless falling spray,
Which lost their perfume.

The golden aspens,
Trembling at the lightest  breeze,
Yield to certain doom.

The autumn wind swept,
The scattered leaves and laid  them,  Upon Summer's tomb.

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Like the falling leaves,
From an Enchanter fleeing,
Leaping to their deaths.

Was it the music,
Of the roaring cataract,
That's so beguiling?

The grizzly bear waits,
 By the bank of the river,
 For fresh catch of day.

The leaping journey,  
 Home at last the Red Salmon,
To spawn, faint and fade.

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Nobility is not earned by birthright.
It's a trait by virtue of one's character.
Honest and true and kind of heart.
Devoid of these, a king is but a pauper.

Harsh and unkind words leave stings and bruises.
That men say in spite of the fancies of youth.
There's nothing so kingly as kindness.
 And nothing so sacred as truth.

For nothing of earth to heaven rises.
Nor gold, nor precious gems, nor vestment worn.
Unless man is rid of all his guises.
Man's folly that in the end, he'd come to mourn.

To win no matter the means is man's trouble.
Whose gains are less than his worth.
For he, who is honest, is noble.
Whatever his fortune or birth.

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The artist sits and contemplates,
How best to paint her other self.
They're so intricately woven as one.

She sets the easel by the mirror.
Mixes the colors in the palette.
With brush in hand, donning the artist's cap.

As she studies the swirl and eddy of her contours,
Posing bare, she remembers an hour-glass figure.
That glowed a wealth,
Of simple beauty and rustic health.

But that was then, and this is now.
With every inch that saw the ravages of time.
Years of toil, in sun and in rain.
And a rainbow in between.

She daubs a tint of midnight upon her hair.
Each strand soaked in wistful tears.
The night caught in hard-bitten rain.

She dipped the tip of the bristles in sunny gold.
That reflects the bronzing magic on her sun-burn face.
Reminiscent of happy summer days of old.

A tinge of mauve, highlights her cheekbones.
Rose-blurred as the last light of sunset.
Erubescent lips whisper a thousand tales.
The ones learned in their silence.

Legends are scrolled across her brow.
The charcoal in her almond-shaped eyes,
Hides the shutters of the window to her soul.
That only the angel peers and sees.

She dabs a dull blue gray,
On calloused hands, ridged with sinews.
The hands that were offered in friendship.
The same hands that wiped away the tears,
Of those who mourn.

With one broad stroke, she paints the lavender twilight.
A fitting back-drop for her waning years.
Now, her portrait, several years in the making.
 A perfect blend of magentas, sunny golds and iridescent blues.

She steps back and ponders.
What will foil her ambition now?
It's the canvas that blanches from fear.
That if she shows this to the world,
Who then would fall in love?

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